


Byte Me

by AlastorGrim



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: BAMF Michael Mell, Broken Headphones, Dubious Consent, Emperor Squip, Eventual Smut, Expensive Headphones Bromance, Floppy Disk, Hate Sex, He Doesn’t Wanna Be Here, M/M, Modern Royalty AU, Poor Michael, Sexual Tension, Soulmate AU, The Soulmate On One Wrist and Enemy On The Other, human!squip, mental manipulation, the squip is an asshole, this is why we can’t have nice things, tyranny, warfare
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2019-03-28
Packaged: 2019-12-25 12:21:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18261194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlastorGrim/pseuds/AlastorGrim
Summary: Michael Mell just wanted to live a normal life. But that's kind of hard to do in a world where your soulmate's name appears on your wrist, and your mortal enemy's appears on the other. Michael has the misfortune of having the same name on both wrists. And if that wasn't bad enough, it was the name of the most dangerous man in the world; the guy who rules more than half of it. Michael was determined to live out his life as normally as possible, and his evasion tactics have always worked. That is, until now.





	1. A State of Perpetual Chill

**Author's Note:**

> *fingerguns my way back into this fandom*  
> *trips and spills Floppy Disk everywhere*  
> ...I’m not sorry.

On Michael Mell's thirteenth birthday, he got his soulmarks on his wrists, just like everyone else. He had been so excited, his mother sat next to him as he bounced and looked at the clock. It was close to midnight now, and his mom had set a timer to the second of when they should appear. Of course, he knew there was a chance they might not show up at all, or they might appear in another language, or he could have a really stereotypical last name on one wrist and a really long one on the other one and up getting with his mortal enemy just because their name sounded cooler and then he would feel like shit because he just ditched his soulmate for his mortal enemy. But still! Michael was excited.

"Ready, Mika?" His mother asked softly as the last few seconds began to tick down.

He nodded enthusiastically, hair sprawled out in his face as he stared down at his hands. The timer went off and he jumped a little, but couldn't take his eyes off his skin. Michael gave a little squeal as black, elegant, twisted writing began to fade in on his wrists. "Momma!" He squawked. "Momma look!"

"I'm looking, Michael, I'm looking!" She assured him with a laugh.

Michael let out a little laugh of his own, awed. But the smile on his face quickly slipped. His brow furrowed, "It's...they're..." He glanced at his mother, who had gone suddenly pale. "They're the same." Michael ignored his mom's soft gasp and brought his wrists closer to his face. "Squid? No, Squip? Who is that?"

He had said it more to himself than anything, but Mrs. Mell swayed where she sat. She stood up quickly and almost fell over. Michael caught her by the arm, alarmed, but she steadied herself on the mattress. She gripped both his wrists suddenly, brown eyes wild and urgent. "Mika, you have to hide these. Do you understand? You have to hide them, Mika, promise me you'll hide them!"

"W-What? Why? Mom, I just got them!" Michael protested. He pulled his hands out of her grip and cradled them to his chest. "Who is it? Why're you freaking out?"

"Promise me, Michael!" She nearly shrieked.

Before Michael could respond, his father burst into the room. "What the _hell_ is going on?" He barked, irate. "Why're you screaming? I get that you two have an odd obsession with this soulmark stuff, but—" He cut himself off when he saw his wife gesturing shakily at Michael's hands. His own eyes widened. "Dear God," He breathed. "Does that say what I think it says?"

His mother gave a helpless little yelp and collasped to the floor. After another hissed conversation and half-shouted accusations and a bit of crying, his father tied two black ribbons around his wrists. And when they told him who it was— _showed_ him who it was, he wore them. Michael wore them without protest. After a few months, he even began to wear them proudly.

 

•⚜️•

 

Years came and went. Ribbons were exchanged for thick leather bracelets with golden Pac-man clasps, sweaters exchanged for a red hoodie he was slowly filling with patches, and bitterness at fate replaced with an open sense of humor. He had slowly figured out that you didn't have to have a soulmate to be happy. And in his case (though he'd had breakdowns over the fact more times than he'd care to admit) not having a soulmate meant not having an enemy. Over the past five years, Michael had learned a lot. He liked to think he'd grown up, even if people thought otherwise because of all the video games and 90's trinkets he had scattered around his room.

He had a job at the nearest 7/11, and went out on weekends with his buddy Rich Goranski, who lived right down the road from him. He added to the bracelets on his wrists until it looked like he had a half sleeve of soft, colorful, metallic tattoos going up his forearm. People always complimented him on the collection, but never asked about a soulmark. They probably just thought he was another hipster teenager striving to fit in with social jewelry norms. Which, according to Rich, was actually a thing.

But all in all, Michael Mell lived a pretty normal life. He was happy with that, too. Michael never really wanted anything big out of life, even before his thirteenth birthday. All he wanted in life was good food, his own place, some killer tunes, and someone to appreciate 90's vinyl with. Maybe a niece or a nephew to pass on his love for Bob Marley to, if he wanted to stretch his luck.

But until Jaxon had kids or Rich decided to adopt, Michael was content. He pushed open the door to 7/11 and swung his keys around his pointer finger, the metal jangling matching that of the circlets on his wrists. He hummed along to Otter Pop as he locked up for the day and took out his phone.

 

**MelloYello: Yo, you coming over?**

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**RichBitch: duh mike. jack there?**

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**MelloYello: Nah, he's out with his girlfriend.**

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**RichBitch: ooo did jaxie boi get himself a soulmate??? :P**

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**MelloYello: I dunno. He won't tell me. Should I put in COD for you when I get home?**

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**RichBitch: don't think you can change the subject that easily mister mell! but yes please.**

 

Michael snorted and rolled his eyes as he shoved his phone back in his pocket. He swung himself into the driver's seat of his rusted red PT Cruiser and started her up. He drove to his house with the slow sway of Sinatra and got out to the beat of Marley. Never enough Marley.

He hopped down the stairs to the basement and tottered a bit on the last step. Michael hummed a bit as he set up the TV for video game night with him and Rich. He had an entire case of crystal pepsi in the mini fridge, along with a few cans of ginger ale and a few bags of Reeses minis and starburst. What could he say; he liked his candy cold.

When Rich showed up, Michael was halfway through the bag of starburst with a bottle of crystal pepsi in one hand and a controller in the other. Rich dove forward and crashed next to him on the couch. "Aye, how's my favorite Mell doing?"

"Oh, don't tell Jaxon that. He'll punt you across the house." Michael said with a smirk.

Rich shrugged and snatched the controller from him. Michael was forced to get up and get the other one, and Rich started up the game. "Jaxon'll get over it. Beside, Jake would beat him up if he tried. Did I tell you he got a job?"

"No," Michael replied around a handful of icy starburst. He swallowed. "Where's he work?"

Rich was bouncing up and down on the cushions excitedly. "Dude, that's what's great! He works at the _palace_ now! He got a job as a guard there after one of the other one's got his head blown off!"

Michael frowned, "Uh, isn't that, like, a really dangerous job? Why're you so happy about this?"

"I mean, yeah, it's dangerous, but it's only for a couple of months. It pays really well and by the end of the year, Jakey'll have enough money to buy us that house on the coast that we wanted near his college!" Rich exclaimed with bright eyes, his lisp slowly getting worse the more excited he got. "All he's gotta do is watch a couple of doors to make sure no one breaks in to assassinate the Emperor in his sleep, you know?"

Michael sat down next to him and turned the controller on. "Might be harder than you're both thinking, Rich. The Emperor's a fucking tyrant, and I doubt there's any shortage of people willing to try their luck to take him out."

Rich snorted, "Yeah, Emperor Squip's a fucked up dude, but Jake says he's calmed down a bit since he adopted that kid. What's his name? George? Jerry? I dunno, but he said the kid's taken his focus off the whole," He flailed his hand around for a second in what was probably meant to be a grand gesture. "'World domination business. Like seriously, cliché supervillain much?"

"Nah, more like _actual_ supervillain." Michael muttered, his hand going to rest subconsciously on his wrist. "Which is why I'm surprised you're not more worried about Jake."

Rich sighed and paused their game to look him in the face. "To be honest, Mike, I am. I'm kinda terrified. But Jake really wants to do this for us and I really can't say no to him at this point. Not after I..."

He trailed off with a wince to rub at the pink scars splattered over his left side. Michael frowned, "That wasn't your fault, and you know it. Jake doesn't blame you for that fire. It was a freak accident. Just because everyone thought you did it doesn't mean you did."

"Then why can't I remember anything, Mike, huh?" Rich shot back harshly. His eyes softened when Michael's face fell. "Sorry. It's just a sensitive subject."

"I know." Michael murmured. "Now c'mon. No more moping. It's time to get your ass handed to you by ridiculous CGI zombies."

"Hey, just because you like the nintendo version doesn't mean that Call of Duty sucks!"

"Whatever you say, Rich Bitch."

"Shut the fuck up, Mello Yello. Stop shooting at me!"

"Never!"

 

•⚜️•

 

Michael drove to work the next morning with a bounce in his head and a skip in his step. Today was a good day. His mom and dad were actually there for breakfast for once, since it was their collective day off, and his mom made cinnamon pancakes with an assload of syrup, just how he liked them. Plus, Rich had said last night that he and Jake were going rollerblading and could Michael up from work early if he wanted to come. So he called Sarah, who agreed to take an extra hour for him today.

Now all he had to do was wait until four o clock and he was gone! Michael didn't have very many friends, so he didn't often get to go out and do things with other people. Of course, Michael never had a problem going by himself, even if he seemed like a loner, but it was always more fun with more people.

Michael settled himself behind the counter with a cherry slushie and his phone. He scrolled idly through Instagram and played Geometry Dash until the first customer came in around ten. It was the same guy, everyday, at the same time, to get the same things. Two cans of Monster, a hershey bar, and a bag of doritos. He kind of reminded Michael of himself a few years ago, when he was in here everyday for slushies and sushi and weed-cravings snacks.

He rung the guy up, asked him to have a nice day, then went back to fiddling with his phone. The second guy that came in Michael didn't recognize. He wore a nondescript black jacket with the hood up, and ratty burgundy converse. Michael watched him wander around the store a bit, and he wondered if the guy was a crackhead. He certainly seemed twitchy.

Michael shrugged to himself and played on his phone some more. The guy finally came up to the counter and Michael looked up. "Hello, how can I help y—"

He was staring down into the barrel of a gun. The guy in the black jacket stared at him with wide eyes. When he spoke, his voice was rough and shaky. "Open the cash register."

His eyes were a dark, muddy green, and they were filled with so much desperation and terror that Michael thought it looked more like _he_ was the one being held at gun point. Michael brought up his hands slowly in surrender, eyes wide. His heart was pounding a tattoo into his ribs. "You don't have to do this, man. I promise if you leave now I won't snitch."

"OPEN IT!" The guy screamed, but now his eyes were watery.

Michael sighed and reached down to press the little button under the counter, then slowly began to open the register and take the money out. "Where do you want this?"

The man seemed startled. "W-What?"

"I mean, you got a duffel bag or something? Or do you plan on just running out of here with your arms full of cash? Cause that's pretty suspicious, just sayin'." Michael said with a shrug. At this point he was just trying to buy himself some time. If the button still worked, the police should be there in the next ten minutes.

"Put..." He swallowed. "Put it in a grocery bag."

Michael obeyed. He tossed the cash into one of the beige plastic bags, one stack at a time. "You want what's in the back too?"

"What?" The man blurted. He looked shocked.

"There's a whole safe of cash in the back. Do you want that too?"

The man furrowed his brow and thought for a second, before nodding jerkily and gesturing with his gun for Michael to come around the counter. The teen did so, and handed him the grocery bag. The man yanked it from his hands and poked him with the gun. "Now, g-give—"

He was cut off as sirens and lights suddenly flooded the shop through the glass windows, and Michael deflated in relief. Only to yelp when the guy grabbed him and pressed the gun shakily to his temple. He held him out in front like a human shield. Michael squirmed. "Dude, I just work here! Let go and run!"

"No." He blurted quietly. "They can't arrest me if I have a hostage."

"Dude, you're not gonna shoot me." Michael stated blandly. "If you were, you would've done it already, when I opened the register."

The man glanced down at him with wild eyes, but didn't reply. Instead he pushed Michael out of 7/11 and held him in front of the officers waiting outside like some fucked-up trophy.

"Shit! He's got a gun pointed at him!" One the men hissed.

The man behind him nudged the gun closer to his temple, "D-Don't," He gasped. "Don't come any closer! Let me through, or he dies!"

Michael just sighed. There was still a nervous flutter in his stomach, just because of the fact the man _could_ shoot him, if he wanted to, but Michael was pretty sure he wouldn't. Whatever this guy needed money for, he obviously didn't want to kill someone over it. Michael would bet that he wouldn't even be robbing the store if he didn't have to be. Because one, he looked so scared, and two, _who the fuck robs 7/11_? They don't make enough money to be a robbable store. Michael wasn't sure the button was going to work because of how old it was.

The police murmured to each other in front of them, and Michael watched them grumble to each other and break their wall enough for the guy to get through. He let out a breath and began to slowly drag Michael towards it. He was about halfway there, when the officers suddenly closed in on them again and lunged for him. The man screamed jerked the gun away from Michael's head, only to shoot him in the leg and sprint the other way. Michael let out a screech of pain and crumpled to the ground. Distracted by the now wounded kid they had on their hands, the policemen weren't fast enough to catch the guy before he ran into the woods with the money.

"Fuck! Oh, you _bastard_!" Michael yelled as he clutched the bleeding hole in his calf.

A policeman—Officer Quincey, if his badge was to be believed—knelt beside him and pried his hands away from the wound. "Shit, okay. This is...Dammit, DAVID! Get over here! I'm not trained for this!"

A brunet man Michael could only assume was David jogged over and knelt in front of him as well. He gingerly prodded and Michael's leg until he hissed in pain. David sighed and pulled out a bandana from his back pocket. He rolled up Michael's pants leg and began to tie it tightly around the space. It was tight enough that Michael winced.

David gave him an apologetic smile, "I know, but it's the best we can do until we get to the station. Can you stand, son?"

Michael nodded slowly and let the man help him to his wobbly feet. The teen huffed as he began to help him limp to the car. "I really didn't think he would shoot me. Asshole. I almost felt bad for him, too."

"You're surprisingly calm about this." David noted.

"Eh, I'm a millennial. We're all desensitized to shit like this." Michael replied sarcastically.

David laughed and helped him into the car, but didn't respond. It was a quiet ride to the police station, and they sat him in a side room off the lobby when they got there. Then David came back in with a first aid kit and started on his leg with more precision this time. He was nice and gave Michael a piece of gum to chew on while he dug the bullet out, which hurt like a bitch, but was necessary unless he wanted a bullet in his leg for the rest of his life when the skin grew over it.

David bandaged his calf with an actual bandage this time, and stood. "Alright, son. We're gonna have to take you back and ask you a couple questions, okay?"

"Okay." Michael hopped off the bed, and stumbled when pain shot up his leg. "Oh, um, _ow_?" He leaned on the wall and hissed. "Jesus Christ."

David chuckled at him and turned around to grab a walking stick from the corner. "Here."

Michael took it and tested it out a bit before nodding and following after the older man in an awkward hobble he thought kind of made him seem like an old man. They went theough another pair of door, then had to stop before a desk that had two metal detectors on each side stretching to the wall, and one of those conveyor belt things that x-rays your luggage. It was wicked cool.

The man behind the desk was an old man with a pruney face and hard brown eyes. He pointed a pen in Michael's direction. "Put any bags you might have on the conveyor belt, then take off anything metal you may have on and put it in this basket. Then step through the gates please."

"Oh, uh." Michael didn't have any bags, but, "I can't take these off." He gripped his bracelets tightly.

David squeezed his shoulder, "We're not stealing them, it's just to make sure you don't set off the metal detectors. If you need help I can unclasp them for you."

"No," Michael jerked back and nearly toppled over. "You don't understand. I can't take them off. I _can't_ , okay? Can we not talk out here?" He pitched desperately.

"We don't any recording equipment out here." David answered, brow furrowed in confusion. "Why can't you take them off?"

"I just can't!" Michael nearly shouted, eyes wide.

The old man behind the counter cursed and lurched forward to grab Michael's arm and pin it to the desk. "I don't have time for this." He spat, one hand holding Michael's arm still and the other beginning to click the bracelets off. He swore when Michael tried to jerk his hand away with a cry. "Honestly, fucking kids these days can't just lis—" He cut himself off with a sharp breath. "Holy. Shit."

David came forward to look. "What?"

His eyes widened just as Michael jerked his arm back and cradled to his chest. "Don't—Don't look!" He stumbled back and fell down with a cringe. "Please don't."

"His wrist...Dave, check the other one." The old man urged.

Michael shook his head rapidly even as David slowly came forward. He knelt beside Michael and gently, but firmly took his other arm to still him when he tried to scoot back away. "I'm just checking, okay?"

"No, it's not okay! Please don't!" Michael blurted wildly as he frantically tried to yank his arm back to himself.

David undid the bracelets anyway, and Michael tried to pry him off with his other hand, only to jerk it back to his chest as if burned when saw David staring at it. With both hands out of commission and his legs stinging like hell, there wasn't much Michael could do except for sit there and watch helplessly as David exposed his other soulmark.

"They're the same." He breathed in awe. He looked up at Michael. "You're..."

"Please don't tell." Michael whispered. "Please don't tell."

David didn't seem to hear him as he whipped his head around. "They're the same! They both say 'Squip'!"

"Well fuck me gently with a chainsaw." The old man uttered, astonished.

"What do we do now?"

The old man ran a hand through his hair, "We gotta alert the Emperor, of course."

"PLEASE DON'T!" Michael screeched. "Please don't tell him! Please, I just want to go home—"

"Home?" The old man scoffed. "Boy, if I had the Emperor's name on my fuckin' wrist, let me tell ya, I would not still be here. I'd be living it up in the palace. Th' hell is wrong with you?"

"Walter." David admonished.

"What? It's the truth!"

David sighed and turned back to Michael. "What's your name, son?"

Michael shook his head. "Just let me go home." He pleaded desperately. "I need to go home."

"What's your name, son? If I have to ask you again I'm afraid I'm not allowed to be as nice." David repeated.

Michael whined and curled in on himself. It was quiet for a long moment, then, just as David opened his mouth, Michael lifted his head a bit. "Michael Mell." He grumbled tiredly, expression defeated. "My name is Michael Mell."


	2. The Squip Enters

Michael had been shoved in a discreet black car and taken to another concrete building where they scrubbed his wrists until they were red and raw to confirm that they were real. Which annoyed Michael to a certain, numb extent, because who would fake something like this? Who wants to be the soulmate of a fucking _tyrannical psychopath_?

They wouldn't let him go home to get his things or say goodbye to his parents. Two large men in crisp black suits shouldered him back into the black car, then bracketed him on either side the entire ride. It was about a four hour drive to the capital, but Michael was too busy trying to grasp that this was real—that this was actually happening, that his entire life had been flipped upside down and nobody but him seemed to care much about it—to notice when they entered the capital.

The palace loomed like a large mythical beast in the distance, and it slowly grew bigger the closer they got. Michael was still hoping the floor would open up and swallow him whole, or someone would come up and open the door and shout, "Just kidding! Really gotcha scared, didn't we Mike? You can go home now!"

But since it seemed like neither of those things would be happening anytime soon, Michael resigned himself to staring at the floor and anxiously picking at the edges of the leather seats. The castle was made of large sheets of steel and sleek panes of black, opaque glass, with two jagged towers on either side that had a constant beam of bright blue electricity crackling between them and shooting down the lengths of them. There was what looked like an observatory dome made completely out of silver nestled just beneath them, and bracketed but tall triangular arches and metallic buildings in the shape of cylinders and rectangles. Michael changed his mind. It didn't remind him of a mythical beast. It reminded him of a giant, broken robot, lying in wait to pounce on whatever got too close.

They passed through the gates and parked behind the tall black wall surrounding the intimidating structure, and the two men sitting beside him (who had been eerily silent the whole time) ushered him out of the car and into a wheelchair, which he thought was kind of unnecessary, but whatever. They pushed him into the midst of even more men in black suits. They blocked themselves around him and led him into the palace through two overly ornate onyx doors.

Michael was immediately overwhelmed by another swarm of people that separated him from the guards and yanked him into a separate room. A tall redheaded girl grabbed him by the arm and jerked him about so she could look him over.

She pursed her lips in distaste, "So you're it, huh?" She huffed when Michael didn't answer. "Not much to work with, but I'll manage."

With that, she rolled Michael into yet another side room and parked him next to a mirror. Michael spluttered, "Uh, what're you doing? What's with all this?"

"I'm making you look presentable." She shot back scathingly. "You can't meet the Emperor looking like...that."

Michael's lips twisted, and he raised an eyebrow sarcastically. "What, like myself?"

"Like a homeless heathen." She replied, unyeilding.

Before Michael could work up the will to be offended, she was yanking his headphones off and stalking over to a chest of drawers. She pulled open the top one and numerous brightly colored fabrics came poofing out in thin lines of cotton, lace, and sheer. She rifled through them irritably, before pulling out two strips of electric blue silk. She came back to Michael and grabbed his arm roughly.

"Why blue?" Michael asked curiously.

She froze for a moment, then let out a sigh, anger suddenly falling in place of resignation. She began to wrap it around his arm and tied it off in a bow just above his wrist. She chewed on the inside of her cheek as she did the same to the other one. "It's _his_ color." She finally answered with a shrug. "I have a matching sweater too, that we can—"

"No!"

She jumped at the sudden outburst. Michael wrenched his hands away with an indignant huff. She blinked, "What?"

"I said no. No to the color, no to the sweater, and no to the," He waved his arms around frantically for emphasis. " _Bows_! I'm not an object to be presented for ownership! I'm my own person. And if you think that you can change that, you can fuck right off." Michael hissed.

The redhead stared at him for a long moment, startled green against angry brown, before she looked away. "Alright, fine. Not my problem."

Michael crossed his arms, sunk in on himself, and sighed. "Thank you."

The girl shrugged nonchalantly and gripped the handles on his wheelchair to push him towards the door. When she opened it, the guards from earlier came to flank them on either side again. They sidled beside them the entire way down the hall. She let out a breath, "My name is Chloe, by the way."

"...Michael. My name's Michael." He muttered, arms still crossed, but a bit more relaxed.

"Well Michael," Chloe mused as she pushed him forward and stopped in front a pair of dark oak doors. The guards pushed them open to reveal what looked like a throne room. She let him go. "Good luck."

Michael had a feeling he would need it.

The throne room was just as overly extravagant as the rest of the place. The floor shone in chrome tiles, and the walls were thick black marble with flecks of silver, twisted steel columns spaced out in two lines on either side of the room. At the end of the long room there was a large, twisted throne that looked like something straight out of Game of Thrones set up on a raised platform, curtained by heavy navy blue velvet, pinned back on either side.

The room was empty. The guards pushed Michael in and shut the door behind him. He was alone. Michael gulped. He really didn't know what to do with himself, save for awkwardly try to roll forward in his wheelchair (still really unnecessary) to look at the rest of the room.

"Are those actual silver?" He murmured under his breath. "How much money does this asshole _have_?"

The bows still tied to his wrists rustled, and he scowled down at them. He stopped rolling to try and wrangle them off, but they were tied too tightly. He gave up after a moment and just pushed them down to cover up his soulmarks once more. Michael had no clue how long he'd be here, or when his royal craziness would show up, so he began to amuse himself by seeing how fast he could get his wheelchair to go up and down the throne room. The answer? So fast that he slid into the wall so many times that he was going to have serious whiplash if he didn't stop.

He was in the middle of attempting a wheelie when a side door near the throne slammed open. A tall man dressed in all black strode into the room, a shock of white hair fallen over bright blue, piercing eyes. He was pale and lean, and while his face wasn't chiseled, his jaw and cheekbones were sharp and prominent. Behind him, a familiar teen rattled off about something the other obviously wasn't paying attention to.

Michael's wheelchair clacked soundly back onto the floor as he flailed in his wheelie. He didn't fall backwards though, so that was a plus. The downside was that now both men were staring at him. Michael shrank back, "Um, hello?"

Jake's eyes widened when he noticed who it was, and he choked a bit. "Your Highness—"

"Hush, boy. I'm doing something."

Oh. So this was the Emperor. Well, that had kind of been obvious, now that Michael thought about it, but he was...a lot younger than Michael thought he would be. He didn't look as evil as the teen knew he was. It was almost hard to believe that this man had killed millions of people and blown entire states off the map. Almost.

The Emperor eyed Michael with narrow eyes, lips pursed. Michael saw his eyes land on the bows covering his wrists, and they flashed with something irritable. He flapped a gloved hand at a spluttering Jake. "Leave us."

"...Yessir." Jake grumbled. He cast one last bewildered glance at Michael, who shrugged in response, then left.

Leaving Michael alone with the Emperor. Those blue eyes were cold, as hard and unyielding as the steel walls half the palace was built out of, and Michael felt them boring into him like a brand. The air was tense, but Michael stared back blankly, as unintimidated as one could be in this situation.

The Emperor tipped his head at Michael, then huffed and turned to cross over to the throne. He stopped beside it to clasp one of the top spires loosely in hand. He glanced at Michael, "Come here."

Figuring he had no choice in the matter, as it wasn't a question, Michael awkwardly rolled himself forward until he could reach out and touch the platform with the toe of his shoe. It wasn't that high, really, maybe a foot off the ground? Still enough for the Emperor to loom above him.

"Let me see them."

Michael swallowed. He hesitated, but under the sharp stare of the Emperor, he pulled the bows back up. He reluctantly held out his arms to show the damning words on his skin.

The white haired male sucked in a breath at the sight. He swiftly left his place by the throne and crossed the platform to squat down in front of Michael. He grabbed him by the palms and yanked him forward to get a closer look at his wrists. The wheelchair clacked harshly into the platform and jolted Michael a bit. He winced. The Emperor didn't seem to notice, too absorbed in staring at the elegant letters on Michael's skin. He ran his tongue along his bottom lip idly. "What's your name, boy?"

"They didn't tell you?" Michael blurted, surprised.

Those blue eyes regarded him dryly. "I'm a busy man. All they had time to tell me was that they found someone with my surname on both his wrists. Which brings me back to my question; what is your name?"

"It's...I'm Michael." He answered weakly. "My name is Michael Mell."

The other's mouth twisted downwards in frustration and confusion. It was only then that Michael realized that he wore gloves. They were tucked up under his sleeves, as purposeful as Michael's bracelets had been. It made Michael frown.

"What's your name? Your real name?" He asked boldly, eyes narrow.

The Emperor blinked up at Michael, startled, then he smirked. "My first name is Damon. And as you can probably guess," He drawled as he pulled Michael's wrists in front of his face. "My last name is Squip."

"Damon Squip..." Michael tried out the words. They tasted bitter on his tongue. "Well Mr. Squip, what's the deal?"

Emperor Squip hummed and released Michael's hands. "I was hoping you could answer that question yourself."

Michael blinked and watched him retreat back to his throne and throw himself haphazardly into it. "What do you mean?"

"How old are you, Michael Mell?" He countered, eyebrow raised in what seemed like a challenge.

"I'm eighteen. What does that have to do with—"

"So you knew my name was printed on your skin for at _least_ five years, and you not only didn't come forward, but you actively hid it." Emperor Squip mused. His posture was relaxed, nonchalant, but there was a dangerous flame flickering in his eyes. "Would you care to tell me why?"

Michael opened his mouth, closed it, opened it, then closed it again. He looked up abruptly and met Emperor Squip's eyes. "You want the truth?"

"I would not have asked if I did not." He replied testily.

Michael didn't flinch. He cocked his head at him. "I hid it because, if you haven't noticed, your name is on _both_ my wrists, and you're a fucking psychopath."

Emperor Squip barked out a laugh. "I can tell your thoughts of me are less than fond."

"That's putting it lightly." Michael mumbled under his breath.

The man leaned forward with a sneer. "You're a fool if you think I'm concerned about the second half of your soulmark. I may be your enemy, but I can assure you that you are _not_ mine. My empire stretches from Alaska to Boliva, and it continues to grow as we speak. If I can singlehandedly take over all of North America and half of South America, why should a little boy scare me?"

Michael shrugged. "Not really sure whether I should be relieved or offended right now. But you know." He glanced up. "Do you even have soulmarks?"

"I do." He confirmed. "However they are in another language and no translator I've hired can decipher them."

Michael perked up. "Wait, so you're saying it might _not_ be you?"

"You don't have to sound so ecstatic, Michael." Emperor Squip replied, unamused.

"You didn't answer my—"

"Back to the matter at hand," The Emperor interrupted. "What are you expecting out of this arrangement?"

Michael gaped. He rolled back a little bit, indignant, "What _arrangement_?"

Emperor Squip sighed in exasperation. He placed his chin in his palm with a bored look. "You cannot possibly be so stupid as to think that I would just let you go back home after all this. You couldn't have been expecting for everything to go back to normal."

"Uh yeah, that kind of is what I was expecting! I don't want to be here! I don't even _like_ you, and you obviously don't like me, so what's the problem with sending me home?" Michael demanded.

"The problem," The taller drawled. "Is that of publicity. As you have so blantantly pointed out, people don't like me."

"Wonder why that is." Michael deadpanned.

Emperor Squip glared at him. "People already dislike me, so if they find out that my soulmate basically ran screaming from the palace, that just gives them more ammunition against me." He stood up. "The entire soulmate concept is romantized to an extent that people are shunned and accepted in equal measure depending on when and if they find their soulmate, followed by if or for how long they stay with them. In short, you? Are a one way ticket to smothering civil unrest."

"How the hell does _that_ work? I just don't run away from you and people automatically accept that we're happily singing kumbay-fucking-ya and staring grossly into each others eyes?" Michael shot back sarcastically.

He yelped as Emperor Squip grabbed his chin and yanked his face around to look at him. "People believe with their eyes, Michael Mell." He breathed. "And they will believe whatever I tell them. If I say I have a soulmate that gives me enough humanity to be likable? Then that is what they will see." His bruising grip tightened until it was almost excruciating. He smiled a bit, but it was anything but warm. "They say I have no soul. And I might not, because I have never felt the slightest bit of remorse for any action I've commited. I honestly prefer it that way. So you can believe me when I say that you _will_ go along with this little facade, or there will be _grave_ consequences."

Michael tried to jerk his face away. He didn't want to look at those cold eyes anymore. They sent ice through his insides and spilled artic water down his back. With them drilling into his own, Michael had no problem believing that this man didn't have a soul.

"You want to go home? _Too bad_." The Emperor hissed. "Now that the whole world knows my name is on your skin, I own you. Whether you like it or not."

Finally succeeding in prying his face out of the other's crushing grip, Michael quickly rolled himself back away. He held his sore jaw and scowled at Emperor Squip as he tried to ignore the burn behind his eyes. Michael snarled, "I hate you."

Squip stood and ran his thumb across his bottom lip with a chuckle. He looked down at Michael with half lidded eyes and shrugged. "That's not my problem. It's yours."

 

•⚜️•

 

That night as Michael was rolled into an extravagant bedroom, the door was locked behind him. He laid out on a bed that was too soft in a room that was too big and too dark, and he found it hard to fall asleep.


	3. Bittersweet

Emperor Squip studied the device in his hand with idle interest. It was a slim black android phone, a red rubber case with a yellow depiction of Pikachu cut into it donning the back. A small metal hook drooped off the bottom corner, and a small collection of colorful charms jangled at the bottom. As he looked through them, he scoffed.

"How is it," He wondered aloud. "That this insolent child is supposedly fated to be by my side? What even is this?" He frowned at the metallic charm, which had been painted silver and red, and was shaped like some sort of spike shelled turtle. He sneered at it and clicked open the phone. He raised an eyebrow at the notifications. "Thirty seven text messages and thirteen missed calls from one Rich Goranski?"

He opened the messaging app, only to roll his eyes at the nicknames.

 

**RichBitch: yo yo yo mike we're here!**

**RichBitch: we at ur door, bitch, come out**

**RichBitch: shit sarah said 7/11 got robbed??? bro r u ok? where the fuck r u???**

**RichBitch: mike youre scaring me buddy**

**RichBitch: SARAH SAID YOU GOT SHOT WTF**

**RichBitch: do u even have ur phone with u?**

**RichBitch: r u ded?**

**RichBitch: fuck it. i'll just spam u until u return :P**

 

Squip rolled his eyes once more. This apparent 'RichBitch's texts were that of a grammatically stunted two year old. But this was useful information. No one had told him that Michael had been shot. Well, the boy had been in a wheelchair, but that hadn't been at the forefront of his mind when interacting with him. But again, no one had told him. He'd have to rectify that immediately.

There were more messages. Most of them were from yesterday, GIFs and memes Squip didn't quite understand, but at some time after eleven that stopped in place of actual texts again.

 

**RichBitch: dude jake just told me that they found the emperor's soulmate! who do u think the unlucky bitch is?**

**RichBitch: excuse me, bitch/bastard. dont wanna discriminate ;P #bi-til-i-die**

**RichBitch: not that it matters to ur gay ass because ur still NOT ANSWERING**

**RichBitch: who do u think it is??? i mean, we'll find out soon, but i wanna bet on it because im broke af and ur terrible at betting**

**RichBitch: whoever it is, lets pray for em mikey! its like what we were saying the other day.**

**RichBitch: oh shit.**

**RichBitch: jake told me it was you**

**RichBitch: that's not true, right? you're both fucking with me, right?**

**RichBitch: MICHAEL MELL ANSWER YOUR PHONE**

**RichBitch: im telling jaxon!!!**

**RichBitch: fuck ur not at home either**

**RichBitch: michael this isnt funny!!!**

 

The Emperor considered this for a moment. So Rich wasn't aware that Michael had been his soulmate. He couldn't help but smirk however. "Guess the 'unlucky bastard' is in quite a predicament now." He rubbed his chin for a moment, then grinned. "This could be fun."

 

**MelloYello: Who's laughing?**

**RichBitch: HOLY SHIT DUDE YOU ANSWER AFTER TEN YEARS**

**RichBitch: legit tho where r u?**

**MelloYello: Michael is currently unable to come to the phone, but I assure you that he's perfectly fine within the walls of the palace.**

**RichBitch: ha ha mikey. you and jake got me good. you can stop now.**

**MelloYello: Is the Jake you keep mentioning Jake Dillinger? Because if so I may have to bring him in for questioning.**

**RichBitch: dude thats not funny. not at all**

**RichBitch: you know how i feel about the emperor man, i thought you did too**

**MelloYello: Oh no, I don't, but please continue to tell me how you feel about me. It should be entertaining.**

**RichBitch: ok smartass. if ur really the 'emperor' prove it.**

**MelloYello: proof.jpg**

**RichBitch: ...**

**RichBitch: 0-0**

**RichBitch: uuuhhh i dont know how to fix this situation**

**RichBitch: btw did u just take a selfie?**

**MelloYello: I take it you believe me now?**

**RichBitch: yes. which brings up my other question**

**RichBitch: wheres michael?**

 

Squip was smirking now. This really was entertaining. But it also cemented the fact that what he had stated earlier was true. People disliked him. They feared him, which was good, but with enough hate fear can be overcome, and he simply couldn't have that. Squip supposed he could get the ball rolling now, starting with this boy.

 

**MelloYello: He's currently still in bed. I didn't want to wake him.**

**RichBitch: HE SLEPT WITH U!?**

**MelloYello: No. We're working up to that.**

**RichBitch: ooooohhh my god.**

**RichBitch: wait a minute, ur lying! michael doesnt like u.**

**MelloYello: He didn't at first. But we talked and now he's accepted that I am his soulmate.**

**RichBitch: i dont believe u. ur horrible and michael doesnt fuck around with horrible people. hes too sweet for that.**

 

Okay, that kind of pissed him off. But he had to admit, this kid had guts. He also seemed to know a lot about Michael, which could be useful in the long run. Squip hummed and turned to throw his legs over the arm of his throne to sit with his back against the left arm. He fiddled with the charm absentmindedly.

 

**MelloYello: Maybe he saw something in me that wasn't so horrible after all. He does seem like the type of guy to see the good in everyone.**

**RichBitch: ...**

**RichBitch: dammit ur right**

**RichBitch: still doesnt mean i believe you!**

 

Squip groaned and tipped his head back in exasperation. "You're more stubborn than he is." He grumbled irritably at the phone. "What more do you want?"

 

**MelloYello: You could speak to him when he wakes up. He'll tell you the same thing I have.**

**RichBitch: good. u better not hurt him!**

**MelloYello: If I really wanted to, could you really stop me?**

**RichBitch: i could sure as hell try**

**MelloYello: Would that end well for you? For Jake?**

**RichBitch: ...**

**MelloYello: I thought so. Michael will call you when he wakes up.**

 

With that the Emperor exited out of the messaging app and shut off the phone with a self satisfied smile. Threatening the boy probably wasn't the smartest course of action if Squip wanted to convince him that Michael enjoyed him. Speaking of which, he should probably send someone to wake him up.

They had much to discuss, after all.  
  


 

•⚜️•  
  


 

Michael woke up to gray sunlight pouring from the window and into his eyes. He grunted and snuffled unhappily, still half asleep, and turned to shove his face in the pillow when his legs suddenly twinged. He shot up and grasped it with a pained hiss. "Ah, fuck!"

He blinked blearily and stared at the room around him in confusion. Fumbling fingers reached out for his glasses, and he shoved them onto his face as yesterday's events flooded back to him.

His mouth twisted down in distaste. "Ah yes, I was shot, almost arrested, then presented to Emperor Asshole for judgement."

The room was much too large and not at all his style. The walls were a dark gray and curved up into a black, domed ceiling with a squared chandelier dangling from the center like the blade of a guillotine. The double doors he'd come through earlier were diagonal from another pair of doors on the adjacent wall, and next to those doors was a large chest of drawers like the one from Chloe's dressing room. Michael didn't even want to know what was in it, so he pretended it wasn't there. He turned his gaze to window to his left, which reached almost floor to ceiling with metal lines crisscrossing over it like abstract art.

The floor was a dark navy fluffy carpet that faded into pristine white tile near the window. The color matched that of the drapes tied to either side of the window with silvery cords. There was a large mirror and a desk on the other side of the doors that led to what was most likely a bathroom, and both were so ornate that Michael felt that they belonged in an antique shop and not the palace. The bed was a four poster with steel gray sheets, navy curtains, and a too soft mattress, and it was big enough to hold five people.

Michael had fallen asleep in his clothes, his shoes pulled haphazardly off and thrown to the side of the bed. He stretched his arms above his head until his back popped. He let out a satisfied groan and slumped back down, eyes half-lidded. He was about to get up to go check out the bathroom, because he always had to piss right after he woke up, when a knock came at the door.

"Hello?" Michael called hoarsely.

One of the doors clicked open and an unfamiliar face poked in. It was a boy with wavy chestnut hair and cyan eyes looked around nervously before spotting Michael. He yelped and backed out a bit, a scared look on his face. Then he seemed to brace himself and stepped forward again.

"Are you..." He swallowed. "A-Are you his soulmate?"

Michael frowned, "Unfortunately. Who are you?"

The boy stepped all the way in and shut the door behind him. He ventured forward slowly, and Michael realized he was about the same age as him. "My name is Jeremy. I just...wanted to see you. They wouldn't tell me much of anything."

Michael's eyes widened. "You're his kid!"

Jeremy winced. "N-Not really." He muttered. He shuffled his feet awkwardly. "He adopted me because he felt sorry for me. I don't see him much." Jeremy looked up. "You said 'unfortunately'?"

"Ah..." Michael averted his eyes and gripped his wrist. He felt naked without his bracelets. "Forgive me for being blunt but," He sighed. "I really don't want to be here."

Jeremy perked up and came closer. He sat himself on the edge of the bed. He smiled faintly, "I get it. I'd leave too if I could."

"Really?" Michael blurted.

The brunet laughed. "Yeah, just don't tell him that. I still need a place to live and he'd kick me out on my ass as soon as I got to be too much trouble." He kicked his feet a little. "What's your name? You don't look much older than me."

Michael smiled. "I'm Michael. I'm eighteen."

"I'm Jeremy." He chirped. Then he blinked and flushed. "That was dumb. I already said that. I'm dumb. Sorry." He shook his head. "I'm eighteen in a few months. So seventeen, technically, but I'm looking forward to it."

Michael chuckled. "Nice. And I do that too, don't worry. I can't tell you how many times I've been to a resturant and they go 'Enjoy your food' and I come back with 'Thanks, you too!'"

Jeremy laughed and scooted closer. "So you're awkward too, huh?"

"The awkwardest." Michael grinned.

They both laughed for a moment longer, before Michael's bladder decided to make itself known. He winced.

"Speaking of awkward, could you help me hobble over to the bathroom? I don't have full motor skills over my leg yet and I really need to piss."

Jeremy paled for an inexplicable reason. "W-What's wrong with your legs?"

"Just the right one." Michael explained. "I got in a bit of trouble yesterday before all this soulmate business and I got shot. See?" He pulled up his pants leg to show off the now soiled bandage there.

Jeremy relaxed a bit. "Oh." Then he jolted. "Wait, you were _shot_?"

"I know, right! And by a guy who was robbing a 7/11."

"Who robs 7/11? They're not a robbable store."

"Exactly!" Michael cried, exasperated. He jostled his leg and winced again. "So help me?"

Jeremy shot up with a yelp and hurried around to a Michael's side, "O-Of course. Here, hook your arm around my shoulder. Wait, that's--oh God, don't fall! Okay, there." He helped Michael stagger over to the bathroom doors and let him lean on the doorway when they reached it so Jeremy could open the door. "They didn't give you crutches or something?"

Michael grunted. "They gave me a wheelchair, but it's a bit over the top for such a small injury. I don't know where they put it, but I really don't need it."

Jeremy raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "Dude, you were shot."

"Yeah, I got _shot_ , I'm not _crippled_."

Jeremy merely rolled his eyes with a small smile. He opened the door and let Michael inch his way in along the wall. "Right. Uh, yell if you need help, I guess."

Michael gave him an unimpressed look, and he shut the door. The floor was made of the same type of marble that lined the walls of the throne room and the walls were a pretty shade of blue that made Michael think of the sky. There was a large walk-in shower to the right of a large silver sink, and it was made of the same starry black marble of the floor, as was the tub to the left of the sink, which looked more like a pool that something used for bathing. There was another chandelier hanging from the ceiling, except it was made of glass instead of metal, and it threw little splotches of rainbow across the floor.

There was a dark oak vanity on the left wall past the tub, and it held another mirror that was almost bigger than the one in the bedroom. The toilet was in an entirely separate room off to the side with a black pullscreen in front of it.

Michael rolled his eyes at the grandeur, but pulled the screen shut, did his business, then came out to wash his hands and spent way too long staring at the faucets (the ones that made the water come out in a weird shape) and playing with them before he finally exited the bathroom. Jeremy didn't look weirded out at how long he spent in the bathroom, so Michael assumed he knew that Michael was ogling the sink.

Jeremy helped him hobble back to the bed, and once there, Michael flopped back with a huff. "I really wish I had my headphones right now. I am in dire need of some Marley."

"What, like, Bob Marley?" Jeremy asked as he plopped back down.

"Hell yeah!" Michael grinned. "Bob Marley is the shit, man. He has the best jams to just chill to, ya know? Nothing like listening to Is This Love with a joint in one hand and a Nintendo in the other."

Jeremy's eyes went a bit distant. "Man, I haven't held a Nintendo in a long time. I miss playing games."

Michael sat up with wide eyes, "Dude, dude, I could totally--" Michael cut himself off and furrowed his brow. His mouth twisted down in frustration. "Well shit. I forgot I'm just as stuck here as you are."

"What do you mean?" Jeremy asked, confused.

"I'm not allowed to leave." Michael huffed and leaned back against the pillows as he crossed his arms. "Mr. Tall Dark and Dickish said that I'm a 'one way ticket to smothering civil unrest'." Michael scoffed, but couldn't stop a smile at the stifled laugh the name gained from Jeremy. "I don't know how or why that would work, but who knows what goes on in the Emperor's head?"

"Mr. Tall Dark and Dickish is a mystery." Jeremy assented with a lopsided smile. "But there's a reason for everything he does." Jeremy bit his lip suddenly, back to being nervous. He fidgeted with his sleeves. "Can...Can I see them?"

Michael stiffened and gripped his shoulders a bit tighter. The idea of showing anyone his soulmarks was still one that set him on edge, even if it was pointless to hide them now. But the way Jeremy had phrased it, it wasn't demanding like the old guy's, and it wasn't threatening like Emperor Squip's. It was simple question born of curiousity, and Michael somehow knew that if he said no that Jeremy would leave it alone. Maybe that's why Michael slowly extended his arms to bare his wrists to the other boy.

Jeremy scooted closer with wide eyes. He studied the marks, but didn't grab Michael's arm, which he was thankful for. He wasn't sure he could handle another person yanking him around.

"It's true. You really do have his name on both." Jeremy breathed. He brought up his hand to run his thumb over the name, as if expecting it to come off. He glanced up at Michael sheepishly. "This may be kind of insensitive, but they're really pretty."

Michael smiled weakly and retracted his hands back to his chest. "Yeah? So everyone says." He grumbled. "I just can't believe his handwriting is _actually_   that extra."

Jeremy chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. "I think all soulmarks are pretty. I-I don't have any, so..."

"Oh shit," Michael yelped. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize--"

Jeremy waved him off, "It's fine. I'm used to it by now. Besides, spunds like you've got it worse than I do, huh?"

Michael frowned, unconvinced that it was fine, because it had taken him a long time to come to terms with what was on his wrists, and to think about having nothing there at all...He shook his head and lunged for the side of the bed. Jeremy jerked as Michael hung halfway off the bed and pawed at the red puddle of fabric in the floor.

"Aha!"

He popped back up with a grimace of pain that quickly reverted back into a brillant smile. He held up a black sharpie triumphantly. Sliding his rear over next to Jeremy, he gestured half assedly to his arms. "May I?"

Jeremy blinked, then flushed and hastily held his hands out for Michael, the blank space of his wrist paler than the rest, "Yeah, u-um, sure. What are you doing?"

"Gimme a sec." Michael murmured as he took the cap off with his teeth and held it there while he shook out the pen. He grasped Jeremy's arm gently and brought the marker back to slowly etch thick, neat lines on his pale skin. He took the other arm and gave it the same treatment, then leaned back with a satisfied smile and his tilted his head to put the cap back on. "There!"

Jeremy looked down at his wrists, then blinked and put them together.

_**FRIE NDS** _

Michael beamed. "Who needs soulmates, huh? Friends are much better." He said with a wink. "And you're a pretty cool friend to have, Jeremy."

Jeremy was staring at his wrists, and his eyes burned along with his nose and the tips of his ears. He looked up at Michael with watery eyes and a shocked smile. He sniffed. "R-Really?"

"Absolutely, dude." Michael stated seriously, before grinning and nudging him with an elbow.

Jeremy laughed hoarsely and rubbed at his cheeks. He brought his wrists to his chest with an answering smile. "You're not so bad yourself, Michael." He held out his hand. "Friends?"

Michael reached out and pressed his wrist to Jeremy's. He gave him a hesitant but real smile. "Friends." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Michael is legit the type of dude that could literally lose a limb and he'd just be like "Nah, it's cool, I'm fine :)" but if his hoodie or headphones got damaged it'd be the end of the fucking world and you can't tell me otherwise.


	4. What Kind Of Code

The moment was broken by a sudden loud knock at the door. Jeremy jumped with a squawk, and scrambled up into a standing position. "Oh God, what do I do? I-I'm not even supposed to be in here!"

"Dude, just hide!" Michael flailed.

Without further ado, the door swung open to reveal what looked like an army of people all wearing the same outfit. Jeremy squawked and they flooded the room, this person dusting that as another went to look in the bathroom and another threw open the curtains on the other side of the window to open them up to the balcony (he had a  _balcony_?).

Some of them looked at Jeremy strangely, and he just shrunk back towards Michael, who had hastily spread his hoodie over his lap to conceal his boxers. One woman rolled his wheelchair up beside the bed, then bowed her head to him and left the room. At the end of the flood came the bane of Michael's existence: Emperor Squip.

He waltzed in like he owned the place—okay, he did own the place, but still. Squip began barking orders out to certain servants, and chiding others as he moved towards the center of the room. Indifferent electric blue eyes finally landed on Michael, who glared back. Squip just smirked at him and tossed something at his face. "Here. Hold that for a moment."

Michael fumbled with the thing and caught it safely against his chest. When he pulled it away to look at it, he blinked at the familiar Pokemon on the back. Michael gaped, "You stole my phone!?"

"Borrowed." The Emperor drawled. He turned to face Michael more properly and finally seemed to notice Jeremy. Squip blinked in surprise, then furrowed his brow in irritation. "What're you doing in here, boy? I thought I told you to leave the guest alone." He jerked his head at the door. "Shoo."

Jeremy squeaked, face paled, and skittered off with a high pitched, "Yes sir!"

Michael looked after him forlornly, then shook his head and snatched up his phone off the mattress. He readjusted his hoodie over his lap, suddenly hyperaware that the Emperor was standing in front of him while he just sat there, without pants. Pants would be nice right about now. He clicked open his phone suspiciously.

"What did you do to it?" Michael glanced between his phone and Squip with narrow eyes.

The white haired man leaned against the bedpost, "Nothing detrimental. I just disabled your location and chatted with a rather _lovely_ friend of yours." Squip rolled his eyes. "I heard Dillinger found his soulmate recently, but I didn't expect his standards to be so low."

"And yours aren't?" Michael gestured himself with a scowl. "It's not like people get to _choose_ their soulmates, preferences or not. You can't really change the marks on your skin based on who you like. Trust me, I would know, I've tried literally everything." He waved his hands around dramatically and internally cheered when Squip glared at him. Served the asshole right. Then Michael blinked. "Wait, you talked to Rich?"

"Yes," Squip answered, expression still sour. "This 'RichBitch' of yours is almost as hardheaded as you are."

"Aw, thanks." Michael cooed sarcastically.

Squip sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "However, he is also a means to start spreading the fact that we're a happy couple now."

Michael was about to respond, but he noticed that he could see one of the servants staring at him from over Emperor Squip's shoulder across the room. It was a small girl with black hair, and she was pretending to dust off the already spotless dresser while she listened in. Her brow was pinched together in thought, and Michael's followed in confusion. When she noticed him looking, she froze. Squip seemed to realize that Michael was no longer paying attention, and he followed the brunet's gaze until his eyes landed on the girl. A snarl curled his lips, then wrestled itself into a serene smile. Michael's hackles raised as he raised a hand and crooked his fingers at the girl, who had gone deathly pale.

"Come here for a moment, would you Christine?" He purred.

Michael went about as pale as Christine. That was  _not_ a good tone of voice. Squip's voice was normally smooth and kind of reminiscent of dark chocolate, every sentence thick and loose so that when you heard it, it almost sounded like your _own_ words.

This wasn't like that. It was sharp and purposeful; like a kick to the shin.

Christine visibly swallowed and ventured hesitantly closer. Squip kept his gaze on her, intense and indifferent at the same time, and grasped her arm when she was close enough. He yanked her forward and grasped her chin. He hissed something into her ear that made her like briefly faint, and then she was shaking and staring forward with terrified eyes. Squip released her and pushed her away. She stumbled.

"Now, all of you, if you're done, _get out_." He growled to the rest of the servants, who had turned a similar shade of white as Michael.

Every servant except for one tying back the curtains and another one who seemed to be...were they drawing a bath? Oh God, this was straight out of some cliche fairytale shit. Squip waited for those two to leave, then turned to Michael when the doors banged shut.

Michael stared at him with wide eyes. "Dude, that was super extra. What the fuck? What did you even say to her?"

"Just making sure that she didn't start spreading anything incriminating." Squip drawled. He sat on the edge of the bed and relaxed again, long legs crossed at the knees. "Now call your stupid friend and tell him how happy you are."

"He's not stupid!" Michael snapped. "And what good will it do? If he didn't believe you then he's definitely not going to believe me." He shifted his hoodie again so he could lean down and grab his jeans for an excuse to avoid eye contact.

Squip chuckled. "You must think I'm an idiot—"

"Oh yeah, in more ways than one." Michael drawled.

The Emperor growled. " _Because_ , why would Richard believe me about _your_ feelings towards me? I applaud your quick thinking, but you'll be making the call nonetheless. Let's make this first step to acting like happy soulmates in a blossoming relationship, yes?"

Michael grumbled and bundled his jeans up over his lap too for the time being, at least until he got the chance to put them on, and raised an eyebrow at Squip as he punched in Rich's number. "First of all, his name is not fucking _Richard_. It's Rich. And secondly, happy soulmates in a blossoming relationship? I'm going to need at least a months worth of acting lessons to pull that one off."

"Put it on speaker." Was the only response Michael got.

He blew out a breath, clicked the speaker button, and turned the volume up. His phone rung once, and got halfway through the second ring before it clicked and a familiar boisterous voice was flooding through the speakers.

"MICHAEL! BRO!"

Michael couldn't help but smile. "Hey Rich! How's it hanging?"

"How's it hanging? How's it hanging!?" Rich shrieked, lisp horribly pronounced in his rage. "You son of a bitch, you left me hanging for two days, asshole! Then the _Emperor_ is the one that finally answers me? What the hell, Mell!"

A strained grin twitched Michael's lips and he held his hands up in surrender even though he knew Rich couldn't see him. "Hey, Rich, chill out. I'm okay, alright? Just a little...surprised."

Rich snorted. "Yeah, you're not the only one, dude. Jakey D came home white as a sheet and nearly had a mental breakdown after seeing you. He thought you were there to executed or something. Then he heard that they'd found the Emperor's soulmate and nearly passed out again when he realized it was you."

Michael flinched at the reminder. "Yeah..."

"Are you really okay, man? I talked to the Emperor a little over chat and he seems like an asshole."

"You have no idea." Michael muttered under his breath, where Rich couldn't hear. Squip shot him a warning look anyway. Brown eyes rolled in their sockets, and Michael sighed. "I'm fine. It's actually pretty cool up here. Really fancy. I think you'd like it."

"I demand pictures!" Rich proclaimed. Then his voice softened again, . "What about the Emperor? He told me you guys were, uh, getting along?"

Michael glanced up at Emperor Squip, who tipped his head and nodded at the phone. The teen swallowed and looked off to the side in thought. "Uh, yeah. He's...cool, I guess." Squip rolled his eyes and gave Michael a 'go on' gesture. Narcissistic asshole. Michael scrambled for something nice to say and grabbed the thought on the top of his head. "He's, uh, more attractive than I thought he would be."

Rich scoffed and began to cackle. "I know, right? He sent me a picture earlier. I was honestly expecting a really old dude that looked like Hitler. At least the hair's on the nose in color. Seriously, was he dropped in bleach as baby or something?"

"Rich, he'd be dead." Michael deadpanned with a grin.

"I dunno, Mike. The dude's weird as hell, it's not a stretch to say he would survive a baby bleach drop." Rich mused. "Anyway, tell me more. Details, man, details!"

Michael huffed. "I don't really have any. I've only been here a day. But, um, I guess he's nice? He's not as bad as I thought he was. A real gentleman."

Rich paused. Then he sighed. "If you say so. He's not making you say all this, is he?"

His limbs locked up. Squip glared and shook his head. But Michael had an idea. An idea that was solely dependent on Rich remembering a conversation they'd had a year ago. Maybe not a good idea, but it was an idea nonetheless.

"Nah man. I swear on my Mountain Dew Red." Michael replied casually, silently hoping Rich would get it.

Rich was quiet for a long time. Michael was holding his breath. Something scuffed in the background and Rich finally let out a breath. "Right. Well, I've got one more question before I hang up."

Michael's stomach dropped. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Rich's voice was different now. He got it. But he obviously wanted something else from Michael. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Rich..."

The phone crackled. "Don't you 'Rich' me. I thought you trusted me. It's not like I would've said anything. I had to find out that you got robbed and shot from _Sarah_ , who doesn't even _like_ me, and then six hours later I find out that you're the Emperor's fucking _soulmate_ from Jake. All pretty big parts in your life that you think you would've let your best friend know about."

He sounded hurt, and dulled, compared to a moment ago when he seemed to be bursting with energy. He tried so hard that Michael often forgot that he still had those problems. Rich had gotten better after he'd moved out and started taking the proper medication—a lot better. But he still had lapses where he would fall into those little holes in his mind and had trouble getting back out. Michael could tell that all of this had him teetering on the edge of a hole, and even with Jake there it would most likely be hard to get him out again. He wished he could be there for Rich instead of locked up in the palace; he'd already known the blond was struggling because of Jake, he didn't really need Michael's mess on top of all that.

"I didn't tell anybody, Rich." Michael said tiredly. He scrubbed a hand down his face and sighed. "It wasn't like the marks showed up one random day and I just decided 'Hey, I'm gonna keep this from Rich just to fuck with him!' I've had the marks longer than we've been friends and they've been kind of a lot to carry, and I didn't want to just lay all of that on you like you were some sort of emotional saddle pony."

Rich huffed, but it sounded watery. "I've laid enough shit on you over the years to make up for whatever heavy shit you had going on with your soulmarks." There was another rustling sound, and then Rich laughed weakly. "Besides, you know I'd let you ride me anytime."

Michael laughed, startled. He shook his head. "You have the absolute _worst_ timing for sex jokes."

"There's no bad time for a sex joke!" Rich cried.

They both laughed. It was nice, in light of everything, to still be able to laugh with his best friend over stupid shit. Michael appreciated Rich's ability to make light of even the worst situations, and their mutual optimism is what made them such good friends. That, and their love for overly cheesy memes and video games.

Rich sighed once they'd faded off into silence again. "Well, I've got to go. But call me later, yeah?"

"Of course, Rich Bitch." Michael answered warmly.

"Bye then, Mello Yello."

The dial tone sounded, and Michael let out an exhausted breath. He ran a hand through his hair.

"Well, wasn't that heartwarming?"

Michael jumped and jerked his head with a squeak. He pressed a hand to his chest and double over with a wheeze. "I forgot you were here. You scared the hell out of me."

Emperor Squip raised an eyebrow. "I do have a question for you. Two, actually."

"Do you now?" It was meant to come out as sarcastic and irritated, but with the entire conversation and Michael's spiked pulse had it coming out sounding wary and unsteady.

Squip tipped his head at Michael once more. "Have you had sexual relations with Rich?"

Michael choked on air. "What the fuck— _No!_ No! Why would you ask that? No."

"From your mannerisms and how you spoke to each other, it seemed that you had fond feelings for Rich. It's not uncommon for close friends to entrust each other with exploration of—"

"OKAY!" Michael blurted out. He flailed his arms frantically. "Please stop talking!" Squip just raised an eyebrow at him. Michael sighed, "No, I haven't hooked up with Rich. If you're going to be weird about it, then you should know that I haven't actually done anything like that with anyone. You know, ever, so..."

Electric blue eyes bored into him for a few more incredibly awkward moments. Michael shifted, fiddling with his jeans in his lap over his hoodie.

Squip glanced down at the movement. Then he closed his eyes and tipped his head back, exasperated. "Have we had this entire conversation with you not wearing pants?"

"You didn't give me time to change!" Michael protested.

Emperor Squip sighed and stood up to round to Michael's side of the bed. "Well, I'd been meaning to get a look at this bullet wound of yours anyway. I suppose I'll take advantage of the rather awkward situation you've put us in."

"Me? You're the one who just busted up in here without warning!" The man ignored him and pushed at his shoulder to get him to slide over. Michael begrudgingly scooted over to give Squip enough room to sit down, and nearly shrieked when a gloved hand rested on his ankle. "Holy shit, your hands are cold!"

"Quit whining." He griped irritably. "Where is it?"

Michael huffed and eased his right leg up a bit so he could fold it into his lap. He reached out and graced his fingers over the bandage on his calf. It twinged and he winced. "Right here."

"Has anyone changed the bandage recently?" Squip muttered as he reached forward to untape it.

"Not since the police station. Why?"

Squip scrunched up his nose in distaste. "Deplorable. I'll send someone to remedy that when we're done here." He pulled the tape back to reveal the wound, which was about the size of a nickel, still clotted with blood. Gloved fingers traced around the reddened edges, and Michael hissed in pain. Squip hummed, "And they still have no idea who did this to you?"

"I don't know if they actually caught him, but they were chasing him into the woods when they took me down to the station to give a statement. Then, well...you know the rest." Michael grumbled, wrists pressed to his stomach.

"He?" Squip mused. "So you saw his face?"

Michael leaned away from the Emperor, suddenly aware that the man had slowly gotten closer as they talked. It sent a shudder of discomfort down his spine. "Uh, yeah?"

"Could you pick him out in a line up, if you needed to?"

"Yes." Michael didn't think he could forget those fear filled eyes and the panicked voice. "But what does this have to do with—"

Squip stood up and began to walk towards the door. "I'll send someone to attend to your injury and help you dress, since you can't even seem to put pants on by yourself."

"I can put pants on—!"

"In the mean time, try not to strain yourself. You'll be joining me in an hour, so be sure to at least attempt to look presentable."

With that he turned and strode out, the door slammed shut behind him. Michael deflated, cheeks flushed with both embarrassment and anger. He flexed his hands and let out a shuddering sigh. He crossed his arms and scowled down at his lap petulantly. "I can put pants on by myself." He grumbled to himself. "Asshole."


	5. Let Them Eat Cake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *bursting back into this fandom* I LIVED BITCH

Michael had managed to hobble into his clothes by the time the servant came to help him, and batted away the girl’s hands irritably when she tried to push him into the wheelchair. 

“I’m fine, thanks,” He gritted out when she gave a furtive look at his leg. It had begun to bleed again, pinpricks of red bled into his jeans.

She swallowed.

He wheeled himself over to the door with a grunt, a scowl on his lips when he caught her reaching for the handles on the back.

The girl shrunk away and hastily went around to push open the doors for him. Which, you know, _great_ , but he still had no idea where the kitchen was. 

“This way.” The girl mumbled, before tapping quickly off to the left.

Well. That solved that.

Michael rolled warily after her, catching her occasionally throwing him frightened looks. He swallowed. “Hey, uh, I’m sorry for snapping at you earlier.”

She jumped. “W-What?”

“Earlier. You were just trying to help me, like you were told to, and I was kind of a dick about it? I dunno, it’s just been a rough day—already—and I was taking it out on you. So, you know, I’m sorry.”

“Oh, that’s um…” She bit her lip and something in her face smoothed slightly. She didn’t look scared anymore, but she wasn’t exactly relaxed either. “Thank you, Mister Mell.”

“Call me Michael, Miss…?” He trailed off pointedly.

“Madeleine.” She sent him a small smile, bemused and tentative.

They fell into a more comfortable silence after that, and Michael breathed a sigh of relief. He rolled along after her, only to break hastily when they stopped in front of a large arching doorway. She nodded to him and stepped forward. “Emperor Squip, sir, Mister Mell is here.”

Michael scrunched up his nose at the address. His lips twisted into a scowl as he caught sight of the Imperial Asshole standing just beyond the doorway, hands clasped behind his back and an eyebrow raised. His eyes flicked briefly over Michael and his lip curled in distaste for a moment, before it was smoothed back out into a blank mask. 

“Yes, I can see that. You’ve served your purpose.” He spoke to Madeleine, but Michael bristled like it was he who had been on the receiving end of the Emperor’s condescension.

“Of course, Your Imperial Highness.” Madeleine sputtered, and with a shaky bow she disappeared back into the hallway, her shoes tapping rapidly away. Fleeing.

Michael felt that sentiment heavily. If his leg wasn’t all fucked up, he was pretty sure he’d run too.

Emperor Squip returned his gaze to Michael and lifted a hand to beckon him forward with a curled finger. Strangling down a growl, Michael wheeled himself forward into the room, only to slow when a line of people caught his eye. 

Around the corner of the archway in the center of the large antechamber, Five guards stood stoically, dressed in black and blue, behind five men, all kneeling before them.

Michael came to an unsteady stop just beside Squip, who looked down at him with half-lidded eyes. “Uh, what?” Michael uttered intelligently.

“The man you said shot you, the one who robbed the gas station,” He drawled. His head tipped, eyes flinty. “You said you pick him out in a line-up. Were you being facetious?”

“Well, _no_ , but...I guess I didn’t expect you to gather all the suspects up so quickly.” 

“I am nothing if not efficient.” Squip mused. He swept forward and swung out an arm in a ‘go on’ gesture. 

Michael gave him a strange look, put off, but rolled himself forward to get a closer look. Three of the men were trembling, one was still, saying prayers under his breath. The last was glaring up at all of them defiantly, jaw clenched.

Hesitation skittered up Michael’s spine. “I didn’t expect you to be so adamant on catching the guy. I mean, he just robbed a gas station. Not even a _good_ gas station.”

The unimpressed look Squip sent him clearly read “And yet you work there”. Electric blue eyes rolled to the ceiling, as if it held the patience he clearly lacked, and the Emperor’s shoulders heaved. “I don’t appreciate the obstruction of justice. Not under my prevision. If I must see to the thief’s capture personally, I will.”

‘ _The obstruction of justice, huh?_ ’ Michael thought bitterly. ‘ _Who kidnapped a guy for political favor again?_ ’ 

Michael bit his tongue and rolled past the people, eyes narrowed in scrutiny. He passed the glaring guy first, but a quick glance told him that it wasn’t the robber. As he went to continue, he tipped his head and muttered under his breath. “You can chill now, dude. I know it’s not you.”

The man blinked at him, and his scowl wavered. Michael went to the next one, found him too dark skinned. The next one was too short, his hair to light. The fourth man was quivering, his head down, brown hair and glassy, muddy green eyes. 

Lips pursed, Michael rolled himself back until he was looking over all of them. His leg twinged, and his jaw set. 

“The fourth one.”

“Wait,” The man immediately gasped, head jerking up, chains that Michael hadn’t noticed before jingling after him. “Wait! I-I can—”

“ _Silence,_ ” Emperor Squip hissed. He raised a hand.

Michael felt sort of bad for selling the guy out. The prisons weren’t exactly easy street, and he seemed...pitiful. But honestly, if the guy really hadn’t wanted to deal with the consequences he wouldn't have shot—

_**BANG** _

Something hot and viscous splattered onto the side of Michael’s face and down the front of his jacket, the man’s shriek for mercy cut off so abruptly that Michael felt numb. Horror flooded Michael’s face as he took in the gorey mess on the floor in front of him, the guard still poised with a smoking gun pointed towards the remains of the thief’s head. Blood, red and thick and reeking of iron, gushed out onto the immaculate tile floors, and the other four men stared at the body with pale faces.

Squip sniffed and flicked a speck of blood off his jaw with his thumb. “Clean that filth up. Get the rest of them out of here, send them home. And you, at the far end, come roll Mell into the dining hall.”

Michael couldn’t tear his stricken gaze from the bloody mess on the floor, rigid in shock. 

The guard at the end of the line strode quickly around his charge to grip the handles of Michael’s wheelchair, the teen too stunned to protest. The stench of metal clung to Michael’s nose even as the guard rolled him out of the antechamber and down another hall after the Emperor. A numbness seemed to have sunken into Michael’s limbs, and he stared blankly down at the floor as he was wheeled into the dining hall and parked at a long table laden heavy with food.

“Leave us.”

“Yes, Your Imperial Highness,” The guard murmured with a stiff bow. He left without further fanfare. Michael barely noticed.

“You should have gotten farther out of range; you’re covered in blood. Well enough, I suppose, if it means getting rid of that dreadful jacket of yours. You’ll have to shower as well.” 

Michael said nothing. His fists curled and his nails bit into his palms. The spike of pain was grounding, and the foggy lack of sensation began to dissipate. 

Fear curled sluggishly up his spine, horrified. But there was something else just beneath it lurking in his chest. It pawed at him, much easier than the dread and terror building at the back of his throat.

 _Anger_.

“What the _fuck_?” Michael snarled as he slammed his palms down on the table. 

“It’s scrambled eggs, actually,” Squip drawled, eyeing Michael with some strange emotion lingering in his face. 

“You—you just fucking shot a man!” Michael shouted, near hysterical. He flailed his arm towards hallway.

“On the contrary, I didn’t do the shooting. Not to mention the fact that he deserved it.”

“He robbed a 7/11,” Michael was flabbergasted, his knuckles gone white with his grip on the table. “It’s not like he murdered someone!”

“He shot you.” Squip’s voice had gone cold. Icy. His eyes sliced up into Michael’s with something that made his stomach turn lurking in their depths. “People do not damage my things and get away with it.”

Stunned, Michael gawked at him. “Oh my God,” He breathed. “I thought I was exaggerating all this time, but no, you are actually _insane_.”

Squip waved his fork dismissively. “Think whatever you’d like. You need to eat.” He glanced over Michael lazily and quirked his lips. “Well, perhaps not as much as you have been, but still.”

Instinctively wrapping his arm around his torso defensively, Michael’s cheeks went ruddy with embarrassment and indignation. “You—” He bit his tongue and gave a furious huff through his nose. His fingers dug into his hoodie, grounding. He glowered up at the Emperor over his glasses. “I hate you.”

“Again, not my problem dear.” He popped an apple slice into his mouth, the smudge of blood on the thumb of his glove licked off with the apple juice. Michael’s stomach turned. “Remember, I own you, Michael. You’re my little public image. You don’t have to love me, you just have to look like you do. Might as well get in some practice, hm?” He folded his arms on the table, head tipped. “Go on, give me your best smile.” Squip cooed with a mocking smirk.

“Fuck you,” Michael snarled, arms tight around himself so he didn’t start dry heaving at the idea.

Electric blue eyes sharpened, and the smirk fell. “I do not have the patience to repeatedly threaten those you care for, Michael Mell. I have a tendency to kill first and ask questions later, as you’ve witnessed. So I suggest that you get over yourself _very_ quickly, before the next bullet strays and finds itself in one of your friends’ empty skulls.”

Michael went pale, all the blood from his face pouring into his shoes with a sickening slosh. He swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat and clenched his jaw. 

Head tipping up, he gave his best close-eyed, winning smile. It felt tight at the corners.

Squip raised an eyebrow and sighed. “We’ll work on it, I suppose.” He stood and plucked up a wine glass of orange juice from the table. “I have things to attend to before I iron things out with you. Eat and shower.” His lips curled cruelly, a pleased malice in his gaze. “You smell like gore.”

With that he strode off, glass in hand, and disappeared back into the hallway. 

Michael stared after him, pale and covered in blood, and decided that this was the worst day of his life. And unfortunately, he was sure there were many more like it to come.

 

•⚜️•

 

When he got back to his room, there was another serving girl waiting for him. One he recognized.

“Chloe?” Michael huffed, bone weary and wanting to sleep. And it was only eleven in the morning. Jesus fucking _Christ_.

The redhead swung around to look at him, face already scrunched in disdain. It vanished abruptly when she caught sight of him. Her hand flew to her mouth. “What happened to you? Oh God, were you disemboweled?”

Michael wheeled himself into the room with a shaky sigh. “It’s, um, n-not my blood.”

Chloe’s brow furrowed. “Then whose…?” She trailed off, eyes wide. “Oh. _Oh_. The execution this morning. I didn’t think that he would allow you in there.”

He scrubbed his hand down his face, likely smearing congealing blood everywhere. “Yeah, he definitely let me in. I had to pick out the guy in a line-up.” It hit him again, right in the ribs, and his eyes went misty. “I thought they were just gonna lock him up. I didn’t know that they were just gonna—just gonna fucking _murder_ him.” He shook his head and buried his face in his hands. “I-I’ve just, ha, I’ve just indirectly killed a man. Fuck. Fuck!”

Pursing her lips, Chloe ventured closer to pull his hands firmly away from his face. She winced slightly at the sight of his blood stained face. “No use dwelling on all that. Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

“I can clean myself, thanks,” Michael snapped bitterly, but he couldn’t do more than grunt in protest when Chloe rolled him over to the bathroom.

“I’m sure you can. But since it’s my job to make people presentable, and I was specifically ordered to your side, I’d rather make sure it gets done well.”

Michael was decidedly too tired to be offended by that. He shrugged off his hoodie, but kept it held balled up in his lap protectively. Chloe glared at it, but didn’t force him to relinquish it. She tested the water of the bath, which Michael wrinkled his nose at, and sighed at the bubbles in disappointment. Michael didn’t particularly enjoy baths, but seeing as he didn’t think it’d be good for his leg to stand up long enough to feel clean again, he’d deal.

He worked his way out of the wheelchair and to his feet. His leg twinged. Michael ignored it, shuffled his way out of his shirt and pants, and turned to look at Chloe expectantly. 

She stared back blankly for a moment, before rolling her eyes and turning around. “Prude.”

“I didn’t think that you would particularly _want_ to look at my ass, but okay.” Michael replied tiredly as he kicked off his boxers.

“...Not really.”

“Alright then.”

Michael eased himself into the bath with a hiss, one hand tight around the handle of his wheelchair, the other still clutching his hoodie to his chest. His glasses fogged up, the bath entirely too hot for his tastes. Michael grimaced and sat himself down on the ledge within the tub to take off his glasses and place them on the rim of the bath. He kept them close though. With Chloe in the room, he didn’t trust his things not to be taken and disposed of in favor of something ‘presentable’.

Chloe turned around once she was sure he was submerged, then strode over to the far wall to a basket Michael hadn’t noticed before. She dug around in it for a moment before resurfacing with a large pair of steel scissors and a roll of gauze. Looking at his hoodie, held firmly to his chest and beginning to turn the water pink, she sneered. “Really?”

Michael rubbed his thumb over the fabric and dunked it beneath the water. “It needs to be cleaned too, but I don’t trust you to give it back if you ‘wash’ it for me.”

“So you’re just going to do it yourself?” She raised an eyebrow, hands on her hips.

“Yep,” Michael murmured as he started scrubbing. Maybe it was ridiculous, to attach so much of his sense of self to an article of clothing, but Michael had painstakingly collected and sown his favorite patches onto this hoodie, each one a differenr facet of his personality. His heart and soul was displayed on this hoodie for all to see, and he was proud of it. Without it Michael didn’t feel like...Michael.

“You won’t get the blood out that way, you know.” Chloe pointed out as she came closer. “It’s going to stain.”

“It’s already red.” Michael shrugged and squinted up at her as she got closer.

“Fine then. Be stubborn. Give me your stupid leg so I can make sure they don’t have to cut it off. And for Godsakes wash your face. You look like an axe murderer.” 

Michael flinched. A scowl twisted his lips, and in a flash of spite, he kicked his leg up out of the water as quickly as possible. Sudsy water splashed all down the front of Chloe’s pants and she let out a girlish shriek. “Whoops.” Michael deadpanned.

Chloe let out another high-pitched sound of digust, hand clenched around the scissors like she wanted to stab them into his leg next to his gunshot wound. Instead, she heaved a deep breath and knelt down beside the large tub to grasp his ankle and yank his leg closer. Reaching behind her, she brought up a damp cloth and pressed it harshly against the hole in his leg. The sting of antiseptic zapped through his calf and made his muscles spasm. He hissed, but Chloe merely smiled sweetly at him and swiped the cloth over again.

She padded over the wound and then wrapped the gauze, too tight to be comfortable, around his leg. With that done, she dropped his leg back into the water and stood. Gathering her things, she strode towards the door with purpose, clearly done with him.

Michael bit his lip. He screwed his eyes shut and blew out a breath. “Wait.”

Chloe paused.

“I’m sorry. That was rude, I shouldn’t be taking out my anger on you,” Michael ran a wet hand through his hair. “Not when I should be saving it for someone else.” He glanced at her, blurry as she was so far away.

She didn’t move for a moment, rigid. There were several long, awkward minutes afterward where Michael thought she might say something. But no. Chloe just opened the door and stalked out, head bowed, and shut it firmly behind her. 

Michael slumped against the ledge. “Well. Fair enough.”

He took his time to clean his hoodie as best he could before turning his attention to himself. By the time he set his soaked coat aside, the blood on his face had dried brown and begun to chip. He dunked his head underwater, scrubbing viciously at his hair with soapy fingers until his scalp felt tender. There was a little bar of soap tucked into a dip in the marble by the tap, and Michael pushed it against his skin with a numb, desperate type of vigor. His desire to not only _be_ clean, but to _feel_ clean was almost overwhelming.

Considering he was still partially in denial about that whole ‘watching a man die before his eyes’ thing, Michael thought he was coping pretty well. 

Once he’d rubbed his skin raw and rinsed off in the too hot water, he flailed for a bit trying to get back out of the bath. He slid his glasses back on with a huff. He managed to stand and make his way over to the sinks for a towel, wrapped it around his waist, and grabbed another one for his hoodie. Ignoring the wheelchair completely, he walked unsteadily into the bedroom, only to find clothes laid out for him on the bed. 

Placing the towel on the floor and his hoodie on top of it to dry, Michael slicked his hair back with his fingers and went forward to pick up the clothes. A simple but soft black shirt with an accompanying pair of black slacks. Black briefs. No blue.

“Thank god,” He grumbled. 

He tugged the towel from his waist and ruffled it through his hair before pulling on the clothes. Now damp towel slung around his shoulders, Michael set about trying to dry his hoodie. He sat on the edge of the bed and scrubbed at the faint splotches still visible along the right side of it, going easy by the patches. By the time he was somewhat satisfied, the towel had gone pink, the hood was still dripping, and his knuckles ached.

Michael flopped backward with a sigh, only to jolt as something hard jabbed into his spine. Rolling to the side, he looked down to see—

“My phone!” He gasped. Michael scrambled onto his knees and cradled the device to his chest like a fragile child. 

He had completely forgotten about it. It seemed that Squip had too, or he surely would’ve confiscated before he left. As it stood, the Emperor had probably placed all kinds of tracking bullshit on it, but Michael couldn’t bring himself to care. 

“Mario kart, here I come!”


End file.
